the fairy tale

back when i was young

i would go into the forest

with the shiny silver ax

my father had given me

and cut down the great oaks

the peach and hackberry trees

golden sequoias and douglas fir

if i was out west. leaving only 

the broken bones of the

woods in my wake

at night i would hear the cicada 

blindly calling out in its lilting 

soprano or surprise an imperial 

moth or a black elm leaf beetle

sometimes i would see the 

most beautiful birds in the world

flying through the dark yellow clouds

darters and goatsuckers or even

the occasional flamingo

once i came across a 

small animal hiding in 

the dirt crying for it's

dead mother. i hurried past 

it off into the dark 

in the dark late at night

the setting moon's teeth

would reflect off the

brilliant green jewels

of my vestments